All Too Much
by lostlikealice
Summary: H/D slash. Chapter 12: Cliffy is resolved. More Draco angst. At least two Death Eaters under Hermione's roof. Why did Narcissa Malfoy do what she did? Harry WILL make an appearance next chapter, I promise. Please read and review!
1. Of Curses and Blessings

A/N: This is an idea I got long ago after reading wa-ay too many slashy fics by my idol, Rhysenn. It's pretty self-explanatory at this point, H/D slash, as usual. It'll get a bit more complicated, trust me.. Here it is. Enjoy.

__

Chapter 1

July 30th was the day that history took place. 

July 30th was the day that Harry Potter gave the ultimate sacrifice to the world, and killed both himself and the Dark Lord in a great maelstrom of power. 

July 30th was the day before Harry Potter's 21st birthday.

It was the final stand. All the struggle came to this very point. The Death Eaters gathered around their Lord, while the Aurors stood behind their protector and he who they had to protect, Harry Potter.

Not a single person there, perhaps in the world, knew what he was planning. 

But one person had a pretty good idea.

-------------------

Harry sat in his study, his hiding place within the headquarters of the Aurors in the house of Dumbledore, on the eve of July 29th. He put his quill to the paper, and wondered yet again what to write.

He put the quill down. There was no way he could put anything into a note. Anything of this magnitude had to be said. There was the possibility that someone would stop him. That could not happen. This could be the only way.

The fact that the core of both of his and the Dark Lord's wand was the same was the key. He had done some research and found the _possible_ answer. He was surprised that Dumbledore hadn't figured it out. Perhaps he had. God knew.

The Killing Curse. At his own chest. While Voldemort did the same. He hoped it wasn't the only way. That meant a faceoff, which had to happen eventually; how did you arrange them, Harry wondered? Did you call up the other people and ask what time would be convenient?

"Are you excited, Harry?" Harry jerked and turned around. A tall, black-haired woman gave him a sideways look as she leaned against the doorframe. She was Ella Lindstrom; an Auror. She was about a year older than him.

He measured her with his eyes. "For what?" She couldn't know. Ella thought she was the brightest thing since fire, but when it came to it she was somewhere out in space. Her face was quite serious, though.

Ella smiled a silly little grin. "For your birthday, of course. 21, right? Going to get rascally drunk?" She laughed. "I did last year."

Wouldn't it be nice. If he was living then, yes, he would. If he wasn't, it'd be pretty damn difficult. "Maybe. I was going to spend a quiet evening with a... friend." 

Her eyebrows raised. "A friend. _Right_, Harry. Who would this _friend_ be?" She stepped into the room with laughter edging her lips with her dark red lipstick. 

"I don't think you'd know this person." He looked away. Ella didn't deserve to dig into his personal life. Maybe she could, though, considering that it might only last for the next, say, twenty-four hours at most. "They haven't been around for a while."

"Well, all right, if you're going to be stubborn." Ella shrugged. "You look worried. What are you writing?" She sashayed over to the desk, but not on purpose. That was just how Ella moved. She was like a theatre actress, every movement exaggerated but in a way that seemed right. She peered over the desk. 

"It's nothing." He pushed the quill farther away from him. "I was just going to send an owl. Nothing important."

"It has to be important, if you're to send out an owl. You know Dumbledore said that your contact with the outside world is to be limited." She could be such a know-it-all sometimes. Reminded him of Hermione. Damn. Hermione. He had to write to Hermione.

"That reminds me, I do have to send an owl." Ella looked annoyed and scandalized at the same time. "Don't _worry_, it's just to the Ministry. To an Unspeakable." Hermione had become an Unspeakable only a year earlier. She couldn't even tell him about the work, just give him price information if it was _really_ needed. She still retained that nose for rules.

"An Unspeakable?" Her eyebrows flicked upwards again. "You do have friends in high places, don't you, Harry?" She frowned. "You're extremely lucky, Harry. You must know that."

He laughed and it was a bitter, dry sound. "I'm not sure what you mean. No, I have no idea what you mean by that." If she only knew what he knew. 

"You were born into a rich wizarding family, brought into Hogwarts as a star, became the youngest Seeker in ages, basically had everything possible happen for you, prefect and whatnot.. but not Head Boy." She frowned again. "What was the name of the boy who took it from you, again?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said absently. "Listen, I see it this way." He looked her dead in the eyes. "I was orphaned, forced into a family who hated me, brought into Hogwarts as a freak, was almost killed by Voldemort and various other people and things over my years, and.. well, that's about it," he finished lamely. "But that's enough. Don't you see? It looks glamorous, but can you imagine? ...No, you can't. No one can." He reached for the quill.

"Harry, you mustn't think like that." When he looked up at her, Ella had her arms crossed over her chest and was looking quite cross, to be honest. "You're lucky, or else you wouldn't be alive. It's as simple as that. You've survived Voldemort so far, haven't you?"

__

No. "Define survive." He looked down at her feet. She was wearing leather heels. Typical. "I've survived, but almost no one around me has. I have good luck, but that comes from sucking the luck of everyone else away. It's just good luck by comparison of everyone else's _bad_ luck once I'm done with them. Look at Cedric Diggory."

"You're too self-critical."

"It comes from everybody praising me too much. So stop." He gave a weak smile. "I've got to write a letter now, Ella. I'll be sure to invite you if I decide to get rascally drunk." 

"And perhaps introduce me to this _friend_ of yours?" Her eyebrow raised again, slowly this time. "I'm _quite_ interested." Her tone contradicted all of that.

"Maybe." Never. He wearily smiled again at her. "I really do have to get on. It's nearly nine."

"Nine? That's _nothing_," Ella said. She shrugged, gestured out with a hand. "But if you say so. If you need me, just give a call." She swept out. Harry breathed out.

"All right," he said under his breath. He dipped his pen in the ink, and wrote.

__

Hermione,

This is quite important. If you don't help me, you'll regret it. Trust me. Everyone will.

A/N: Cliffhanger! The suspense builds. Ooh. Chapter 2 will be up soon, as soon as I feel like uploading it. I'm actually up to Chapter 8, I wrote almost the whole thing in one night. It's not even done yet. For now, domo arigatou and sayonara!


	2. An Interlude

A/N: All right, quite a short chapter but honestly I couldn't separate the big part easily. This is sort of a lull. Enjoy the hints of happiness that will probably be gone after this one and won't come back for quite a few more chapters. I can't believe it. Under a thousand words! *gasp* I've written poems longer than this. Oh well. Onward and so forth!

Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore stood beside Harry Potter on the morning of July 30th. Aurors were patting his shoulders and trying to relax him, but it wasn't working. He simply wasn't responding to anything. 

"Harry," Dumbledore said. The young man looked up. "Why did you choose to do this now, of all times?" The blue eyes pierced into his like shards of morning light through Venetian blinds. "Do you have some sort of plan?"

Harry simply cocked his head to the side, looking up at him, appearing almost exactly like one forlorn eleven year old nearly ten years ago. "Don't you know, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore watched him. The old man eventually spoke. "There is one way. But it hasn't been proven."

"We'll see." Could two words convey that sort of sorrow, carry the true feeling into the heart of the listener? 

Albus Dumbledore always took the sensible route, always did exactly what he had to do. If the boy had to sacrifice himself to save the world, he had to do it.

It didn't mean that Dumbledore had to be happy about it.

-------------------

The owl flew into Hermione's room on the eve of July 29th. It fluttered onto her paper-cluttered desk and settled in the middle of her "in box."

"I can't believe it," she said to the owl, for lack of anyone else to speak to. "Another one?" She cleared a small spot, and the owl dropped the paper from its beak. She didn't recognize the owl. It might have been business. Maybe.

Hermione sat in her office chair in her study, her traditional dark blue robes of the Unspeakables flopping over the sides. They were a size too big. She'd get around to fixing them one of these days. 

She unrolled the parchment and peered at it sharply. " 'If you don't help me, you'll regret it. Trust me. Everyone'.. Harry?" she thought out loud. After a few moments she slammed it down, stood up and started rummaging through books. 

"You idiot, you moron, Harry, dear God, I don't know why you _do_ such things to me.." 

Eventually she let out a small squeal and yanked a book from the shelf. "This is it, this is it.." She scanned a moment longer and pulled another from the shelf.

The covers proclaimed respectively, _Wand Cores and Regarding Them,_ by Maximilia McDougal, and _Priori Incantatem: The Key to the Core_, by Charles Spiegel.


	3. The Faceoff

A/N: Ahh! The faceoff! When our favorite Wonder Boy faces Voldemort for a final stand. We know how it ends, but.. there's a twist. Hehe. You'll just have to read, won't you? Quite a dramatic chapter. Sorry about the over-dramatization, but ain't that what fiction is? And here you go. Angst _really_ begins here.

Chapter 3

At 11:57 in the morning on July 30th, the Death Eaters arrived. Not one by one, nor pair by pair; almost completely synchronized, most every single one appeared at that exact moment. 

The Dark Lord had yet to appear. The Aurors looked around nervously, scanning the horizon and any shady corner, as if he'd appear with a flourish and a cheap sound effect like a vampire from an old horror movie.

The Death Eaters waited patiently for their master. There were fifty of them at least, sixty at most. Most of the Aurors stared at the ranks of Death Eaters, either in shock at their numbers, or hatred in general. 

At high noon exactly, a ripple of gasps slid over the Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord materialized. The Aurors had a mixed reaction; most brave covering of fear, some fearful awe, a few the stupidity of dead-on hate. One, the youngest, poor little Dennis Creevey, threw up.

He looked up at them with those reptilian eyes and said with infinite majesty, calm and patience: "I am here."

Harry stepped forward and by instinct the Aurors followed in suit, if a little more discreetly.

His voice brash and uncaring: "So am I."

"Then we go on?" Voldemort said. Harry nodded; even that was modified by his fear, apathy, love and hate. It was simply a short jerk of his head.

With a flick of his wrist Harry's wand was in his hand. Voldemort looked amused. "Oh, wands," he said. "Is that necessary? Well, then, fine. I suppose I'll play along." He snapped his fingers and his wand appeared in his right hand.

"You can go first." Harry's hand tightened around the wand. "You don't play by honor, Voldemort. I'm allowing you to go first, because you'd do it anyway."

Voldemort laughed. "The boy learns." His hand raised, wand pointed at him until eventually all he could see was the tip. "But your lesson is over and done with, Harry Potter. And you have failed." 

As he watched the vile lips trace the familiar curse, he raised his own wand to his chest.

All the Death Eaters stared. Only one stared with tears forming in his eyes.

Draco Malfoy, with his hand in his pocket, absent-mindedly ran his fingers over the cool surface of a small globe. "No," he wanted to say. "You can't do this. Not today. I got you the perfect birthday present."

-------------------

It was the eve of July 29th when two things arrived in Draco Malfoy's room.

One was a letter sent through the fire. He knew it was from Harry. Two words were displayed. _Not tonight._ Didn't that say it all?

The other was the thing he had been waiting for weeks upon weeks. The perfect present for Harry. Just in time.

A Kristallinneres. It was a clear crystal globe, small enough to fit in your palm. It worked something like a pensieve. If you squeezed it and thought deeply about your fondest memories, they would go into the stone, and once squeezed again, it would display them in the curved crystal surface. 

It was full to the brim of his happy memories with Harry.

Draco knew that he couldn't remain as Harry's lover much longer. His father would force him to marry. If Lucius Malfoy knew, or even wondered.. it could not happen. They had to end it, and that cut the emotional knees from beneath Draco. 

At least Harry could walk away with fond memories of him. That was all that mattered. Someone had to remember him that way. He could look at the way Draco saw him, loved him, cared for him for all of these nearly five years; and doing this, could either mourn the passing of their love, or glow in the knowledge that somebody loved him.

All Draco wanted to do was keep Harry happy. Though he'd been doing it for years, it began to bother him now. He'd do anything to keep him happy. Even sacrifice his own happy memories of his lover to do it. 

It was pathetic. Pathetic, but true.

He loved Harry Potter enough to give him away, completely. When the person was gone, all that was left was the love and the memories. 

All he had left was the love. And it hurt.

-------------------

Harry saw the tears in Draco's eyes glitter in the sun like the man on the chopping block sees the deep scratches beside his head. He bit his lip. Draco. Draco. He shook his head, 

held the wand to his chest.

"Avada... Kedavra!" Voldemort screamed. As the green light rushed towards him, Harry closed his eyes and repeated the foreign syllables that so often repeated in his dreams.

"Avada Kedavra!" The words sped so fast from his mouth he nearly tripped over them. 

It felt like a liquid wind so cold, so frozen couldn't describe it. It felt like fear embodied.

It felt like he was dying.

A/N: Dun-dun-dun. Not really a cliffhanger, but a nice little edge to sit on. Review please, I'll love you. I'd pay you if I had money. Ah well. Next chapter up soon!


	4. Death is always on our side

A/N: So here's chapter 4, where it finally happens.. I got a little dramatic and that explains this chapter. It's one of my fave chapters so far. Thanks to Phoenix, my only reviewer thus far.. And on we go!

Chapter 4

All stared down at the scene. Both Death Eaters and Aurors cried out in horror. 

"Did he turn the wand on _himself_?" an Auror said. Ella Lindstrom was sobbing uncontrollably. Others just stood in shock, staring at the scene.

Voldemort was dead.

The Death Eaters gathered around their dead lord, casting off their masks. "Lord," one cried out, "what have you done? A mere boy destroys you!" Infuriated cries followed.

The Aurors gathered around Harry, who lay sprawled on the ground, his clothes scorched and his eyes dripping a few tears. "Is he _dead_?" someone said.

"N- ...no." Harry fought his way to a sitting position, or at least vaguely. 

A Death Eater burst out of the crowd of his brothers and ran straight for Harry. Several Aurors drew wands and began curses. "No!" Harry cried out. His face assembled into something angry and yet looked something like a smile. "Let him."

Draco knelt beside Harry. Tears poured down his face. "You're alive. Oh God, you're alive. Harry--" he was nearly sobbing. "You're alive."

"Draco..." he tried to sit up. "Draco, please.."

Draco put his arms around Harry, pulled him close, kissed both his cheeks, his forehead. "Please don't die," he said. "I have the perfect birthday present."

"Really?" Harry murmured. His hand brushed Draco's cheek, then flopped back down. "Let me see. Let me see."

Draco dug in his pocket with his free hand, dug until he found the globe in his pocket. He pressed it into Harry's palm. "Squeeze it," he whispered.

Harry obliged, stared into it. Memories flicked quickly, one by one; Harry smiled a weak, sickened smile and laughed in a pure happiness. "Draco," he said, "it's wonderful. It's perfect."

"Thank you.." Draco ran his hand over Harry's forehead, over his scar, through his hair. "You did it. You got rid of Voldemort. You saved everyone."

"But I'm dead," he mumbled. "This isn't how it's supposed to go. I'm not supposed to d--"

Draco put his finger on Harry's lips. "Shh," he admonished. Then he smiled. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Harry coughed. "Oh, God, Draco, I, I.. I'm.."

Draco pulled Harry close and kissed him until it hurt, kissed him until he could barely breathe, and even then he panted against him. Draco kissed him as if by doing it he could breathe life back into Harry's body.

He pulled away and held Harry in his arms as he died.

Harry pressed the globe into his hand. "Keep it," he said. His voice was so listless that Draco had to strain to hear. Draco leaned his ear towards Harry's lips. "You need it more than me. Love conquers all, and hate conquers nothing, remember?"

Draco's face flickered. Those were the first words Harry spoke after their first kiss. 

"Nothing is more important than love, not even life... I did it for you, Draco, I did it for everybody.. you're free now... do what you've always wanted to do. I love you, Draco.."

"I love you too," Draco whispered. Harry breathed one faint, quick breath, and he died.

Draco looked up at the people, all of them. The Death Eaters, frozen, staring at one of their own crying over the dead body of their archenemy. The Aurors, staring at the Death Eater holding their hero close, sobbing over the death of _his_ archenemy.

"Don't you understand?" he said. "I loved him. He loved me, and now he's dead, along with Voldemort. Is it that hard to understand?" Draco looked down at Harry's body, kissed his forehead, and placed him back on the ground. He stood. "Did you hear him? I did. He said, 'Nothing is more important than love, not even life.' Did you hear that? He was willing to sacrifice himself to save you all. Even you!" He whirled on the Death Eaters.

"How many of you are Death Eaters simply because your parents told you to?" Draco shouted. "How many of you are Death Eaters simply because you crave power?" He wiped tears from his face.

"People like you, who look down on people because they're different, Muggleborn or something, you're pathetic!" Draco began coughing violently, recovered, and went on. "This normal, average, Muggle-raised boy, he was more of a man than _any_ of you! He sacrificed himself so others could live, so others could sleep at night knowing their wives, husbands, friends, brothers, sisters, cousins, who_ever_ are safe!" A sob burst from his lungs, but he held back, wiping his face again.

"What do you do? You go against him, proclaiming that your life is more important than millions of lives and look what you've done; you go and kill this innocent, honest boy!" The Death Eaters stared at him as one. Draco wiped his face again, shaking with sobs again. "I loved him." He gestured at the Aurors. "These people cared so much for him that they were willing to give their lives for him. So many people cared about him; what right did you have to force this burden on him, force him to do this thing to destroy your master!"

"He was your master," someone yelled. "He was your master, too, until you started sleeping with that little Muggle-loving bastard Potter!"

Draco flushed with fury. "Zabini! I know you, you bastard, and I know you don't give a damn what happens to anyone else. You know where that leads you?" He gave his face a final wipe; his face turned hard as stone. "Nowhere! Apathy leads you nowhere! Vicious self-indulgence feeds the bodily desires, but what about your soul? What about your damned soul?"

His voice stopped and he began coughing violently again. "Do you understand now? He was more than just a lover." Draco shook his head, staring at the ground. "He was my love."

He looked up at the people, then back down at the body one last time. Then he walked away.


	5. Pureblood shame

A/N: Harry's dead, Draco's alone, but how does his father feel about the news? Here it is. Thanks to Phoenix, eMJay, and iphreeta for reviewing. You feed my starving author's soul! This is a short one, but eh. I know I skipped a lyric, but eh… this fits better. Anyway, here it is; enjoy!

Side note: I had to upload the whole thing again because the site started to freak (as usual) but I haven't changed a thing of the story so dun worry. On you go now.

Chapter 5

The Daily Prophet had a field day. All of the wizarding newspapers did. They read mostly, for example, like the Daily Prophet did: " DEATH OF HARRY POTTER REVEALS POTTER AND MALFOY ROMANCE." 

Needless to say, Lucius Malfoy was not pleased.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled at his son. The boy stared down at his hands, eyes appearing almost bruised from crying. "Sleeping with a man? Harry Potter, no less? I thought you were dating women. You little bastard, you've ruined my reputation, my only son a bleeding-heart and a--"

"Lucius," Narcissa snapped. "No need to go overboard." She patted her son on the shoulder. "Why did you do this?" Her voice was fractionally less harsh.

"I loved him." Draco's voice was hoarse from screaming and sobs tearing at his throat. 

"You didn't love him, a Malfoy cannot love a Potter." Lucius turned on Narcissa violently. "He's sleeping with anything that moves, I swear to God. You're going to pay dearly for this, Draco Malfoy, you cannot live in this house any longer, you are written out of my will, just because you couldn't keep from sleeping with Harry bloody Potter!"

"Fine." Draco's voice sounded almost disembodied, as if it was really coming from someplace far away, as if not only Harry's soul had fled. 

"_What_ did you say?" Lucius said, but Narcissa grabbed his shoulder. 

"Quiet, Lucius, _honestly_." She rolled her eyes, then she turned to Draco. "Do you understand what you've done? You've ruined your father's reputation. He'll be known as the man who can't control his own child, not even considering the fact that you're--" she bristled at the thought of the word she'd have to say next.

"Gay," Draco finished with supreme calm with bitterness lingering behind. "I'm gay. Are we done with that now?"

"Well--" Narcissa's nose twitched at the thought. Her son, gay. It couldn't be possible. Unfortunately, it was. "I don't know if we're to cast you out of the house as your father says--that may lead to worse rumor--perhaps we could pretend we knew all along and we're _proud_ of him?" Her nose twitched again(the very _thought_!). She glanced over at Lucius.

"Are you joking, Narcissa?" He looked at his wife in disgust. "We'd be the laughingstock of wizardkind. No, the only way is to send him off into the streets and disown him. Do you understand what he's done, Narcissa? He's ruined me!"

"Of course I understand, you bloody idiot," Narcissa snapped. Draco rolled his eyes. This was how it begun. Life was normal; his father was calling Draco "him" again. Not even "you." It was a bad sign.

As his parents bickered back and forth, they didn't notice Draco going into his room and packing the suitcase. They didn't even notice him leave until they heard the sound of the door closing.

"He's left, Lucius," Narcissa said, pale face pink in irritation.

Lucius glared at his wife. "Finally I'm rid of that brat. Good riddance."

"He's your son."

"Not anymore."


	6. His birthday

A/N: So here's the chapter I promised. No Snape yet, but I just couldn't fit him here. Next chapter I promise a Snape cameo, hell, maybe I'll even involve him in the plot. Dunno yet. Anyway, here it is. Hermione finds out and Draco gets a little drunk. A bit of a gloomy chapter, but not half as bad as some of my stuff. Onward and toward!

Chapter 6

Hermione buried her face into Ron's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. It was midnight of July 31st. She had just gotten the news from him. Unspeakables, holed up in their offices, rarely heard major announcements.

He would have been crying with her, but he had gotten rid of his tears about six hours before. 

Being a high-up Ministry wizard--assistant to Ludo Bagman at the Department of Magical Games and Sports--he had found out nearly as immediately as those there. Now he just felt hollow, and patted Hermione's back rather automatonically as she sobbed. 

She had been babbling incoherently for a few moments, but a few words caught his ear. "--all my fault, I gave him the resources--" He jerked away from her.

"You let him read your damn books?" 

She looked up at him with tears streaming from her eyes. "He asked and I promised I'd do it--you can't blame me, he would have found out on his own..." She trailed, choked out a sob, went quiet. She changed the subject with tact unusual to someone who was mourning. "Can you believe... Draco Malfoy?"

"No." That about covered the whole of his belief on it. Ella Lindstrom, a good friend of his, claimed she saw it all. Someone must have gotten it wrong, because Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hated one another. At least, last time he checked.

"I guess opposites attract." She smiled through the tears and it was twisted in its despair. Ron had to look away. "They would have been the best-looking couple at Hogwarts, certainly. Forget Cedric and Cho Chang." 

"Hermione!" The very thought shocked Ron to the bone. "You thought Malfoy was.. handsome?"

"An annoying git but still a good-looking guy. Isn't that how it goes?" Hermione laughed quietly. She paused. "Ron?"

"Yes?"

"It doesn't seem right."

She retreated into his arms again. He hugged her close. "No, it doesn't. Only two left of the trio. It's not right."

She mumbled something into his chest. "What?" he said.

"It's his birthday," she repeated. "I have his present." She sniffed. "It's a scrapbook from Hogwarts. I started organizing pictures. I looked at it, and.." Hermione's voice broke. "Ron," she sobbed into his shirt.

"It's all right." He was the same way about ten hours earlier. He just didn't feel anymore. Come to think of it, that didn't feel right either.

Nothing, not the air, not the taste of things, not the feel of his shirt, nothing felt right anymore. 

Nothing felt right since 12 hours earlier, when Harry Potter died.

-------------------

On the afternoon of July 31st, Draco Malfoy wandered Muggle London with his suitcase in hand. Experience, to him, demanded that it should have been raining. It wasn't. That burned all the more.

The sunshine poured from the sky like ambrosia. Families, couples, all sorts of happy people walked the streets. It made him want to be sick.

It made him want to be drunk.

He scanned both sides of the street for a bar. He'd do anything for a drink. His head began to throb; he rubbed his eyes rather hard. This was certainly not his best day.

A small child nearly ran directly into him. She looked up at him, shrugged and ran off laughing. Draco was not amused.

However, once he looked up again he saw the perfect bar for him; a pub named the Candlelight Inn. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone or bump into anyone he knew. He just wanted to drink himself into a state where he didn't have to think any longer.

That was why he had come into Muggle London; to be alone. Harry had taught him that non-magical did not equal filth. Harry had taught him a lot, both about the world and himself.

He went in. It was a sorry little pub, but they probably had alcohol and that was enough for him. 

There were a fair amount of people there, but thankfully there was a section of abandoned bar stools. He sat there, as far away as he could from the teeming pool of drunks near the center of the bar.

The bartender looked away from the best customers she'd ever had and looked over at the solitary figure at the end of the bar. He was wearing some of the oddest clothing she'd ever seen; he looked like he was straight from the Middle Ages, wearing a _cloak_ and all. It was odd. But he had an air of richness about him, and that was enough for her. Who cared that someone was crazy, if he was rich?

She went over to the solitary man and leaned over the bar. "Hello. Would you like somethin' to drink?"

He lifted his head. "A shot of Jack. Leave the bottle." She winced.

"Sure?"

He gave her a look. "It has not been a good two days. Just give me the alcohol." He sank back down on the bar. "Who are you to question _my_ choices, anyway? There's enough people to do _that_."

She looked down at the strange stranger in sympathy. "I'm Sarah. Here, did your young lady throw you out? You look a bit depressed."

He smirked. "Not quite. Not my young lady, exactly." He looked up at her. "Now where's the damn alcohol?"

Sarah the bartender looked affronted. "Well, fine," she said. As she reached for the bottle and a glass, she asked, "If it weren't your young woman, what was it?"

"Well, first off it'd be my young man," he said offhand, hoping Muggles wouldn't take offense to the idea. He really didn't wasn't quite sure.

She set down the bottle and glass and stared at him for a split second. "Ah. I see." She hesitated, poured the Jack into the glass, then said without a moment's delay, "What did _he_ do, then? Or was it someone else?"

Draco drank it down in one gulp, recovered, then said, his words vaguely slurred: "He died."

"Oh." Sarah the bartender blinked at him. "Well, I'm quite sorry. When was it?"

"He died noon, yesterday." He poured himself another shot. "Dunno when the funeral is. I probably won't be invited." He finished the shot. "It's a scandal. His friends and all, they hate me. He hated me too, at first. But then we fell in love and we had to keep it a secret.. well, it's complicated." 

"Sounds like it," Sarah said. She was in a state of awe. She hadn't had a story this good walk in in quite a long time. "I'm willin' to listen if you want to tell."

He looked up at her. "Are you sure? It's quite depressing."

"Well, it's that or listen to these unintelligible idiots over here," she said. "You, at least, have an interesting story. Just don't get too drunk and I promise to listen, Mister.." she had been curious about his name originally, so decided to drop a not-so-tactful hint.

"North. Tom North." Draco was surprised he could think that fast. Especially on his third shot. He had always been extraordinarily smart. "My father threw me out. Actually I left, but he didn't stop me. I ruined his reputation, you see."

"Didn't like the boy?"

"No. Hated him, in fact. He was an old family enemy. We were born to hate one another. And yet.." He sighed, set down the shot glass. "I don't know. I suppose opposites attract?"

"Suppose so." She looked at him quite seriously. "Did your father find out?"

"Yes. Only after he died though. I suppose I went a bit overboard, got a bit dramatic, and sort of exposed our love quite openly.." He stared down at the bar. "But it wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair." He looked up at her. "Today would have been his birthday."

"Oh." He was definitely depressing her. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was in the pit of despair, he was dragging someone else down there. Splendid. "I'm sorry."

Without missing a beat, Draco said, "So am I." He filled the shot glass again and downed it. "But after all, 'love conquers all and hate conquers nothing', right?"

When he looked up at her, Sarah was staring vaguely at him. "Was that some philosopher or something? Plato? Socrates?"

Draco smiled an ironic smile. "Someone like that. I don't remember." Harry would have smiled his great smile at hearing that his statements born from a teenage sense of drama had been thought of as philosophy. It shoved a pang of angst between his ribs to think about it.

"So your young man was dying, you showed your love, he died and your father threw you out?" 

Sarah shook her head. "I shouldn't have criticized you drinking such hard liquor. That is dreadful, especially over only a period of, what, twenty-four hours?"

"Yes. Nearly, anyway."

"Drink away, Tom North." 

"That was what I was planning," Draco said. He picked up the bottle, contemplated, then set it back down. "But maybe I just needed to confess to someone. Hmm." He stared down at the shot glass. "Maybe I don't need to get drunk."

"Maybe." Sarah smiled at him. "Either way, this bottle's on me. Drink away, if you like." 

Draco stared at her. Kindness bestowed by a stranger? That truly was a first to him. "Thank you. I wasn't sure how I was going to cover the cost anyway. I appreciate it."

"No problem." She smiled again. Draco found himself smiling back.

"I think I'll be fine," he said. For some reason, his burden was lightened. "Thank you for listening to me, Sarah."

"It's the better part of my job description: impromptu therapist." She laughed. "You're welcome, Tom North. I wish you luck."

"Thank you," he said again, then left.

Unbeknown to both of them, they did the exact same thing once the door closed. Each smiled and said, "Quite an odd person.. but nice."

Draco walked the streets, and the sunshine didn't bother him that much. The morbidity was faded, but the misery still taunted him.

He wasn't nearly done grieving. But he was part of the way there.


	7. Blood money and hangovers

A/N: Another short one, but it gets the point across. Snape! He'll get a bigger part pretty soon, too, because I've neglected him too much in other fics. I appreciate him a teeny bit more now, if not only for my aimless wandering into the world of MWPP fics. So Draco was drunk. Now he's hung over. And a letter appears, along with something shiny.. *cackle* Anyway, read. Here you go…

Chapter 7

At 11:30 PM on July 31st, Draco downed another bottle of Finkley's Hangover-B-Gone Potion™ and dropped his head to the table. He had been staying at the Leaky Cauldron since his father had thrown him out of the manor.

He had finished the bottle of Jack Daniel's and started on another bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey when he passed out. So far he had drunk three bottles of Finkley's and his head was pounding instead of throbbing now. 

There was a thump at the window. Draco didn't react, quite sure it was just an effect of the alcohol.

It didn't go away. In fact, it thumped louder and squawked.

He finally got up after this repeated three times and opened the window. A pure black owl--possibly the Salazar breed--flew up. He didn't recognize it, but let it drop onto the desk anyway. 

It had what appeared to be a bulging leather pouch tied to its leg. It clinked.

Draco paused and looked very, very carefully at it.

Until what was soon to be two days ago, Draco had been a rich little snot. And he knew the sound of money.

He untied the pouch and let loose the contents onto the table. At least a hundred Galleons spilled out with a very impressive sound. Draco stared for a moment, then noticed the letter. In an eloquent, tight script, it said thus on the envelope: _Master Draco Malfoy_.

There was only one person who would address him like that. He opened the letter.

"To Master Draco Malfoy--

The money which I truly hope still accompanies this owl was the bounty on your father's head when he ran, which I collected. As I know Lucius quite well, I was certain he would disown you as soon as he got the news about you and the late Harry Potter. If this is the case, and even if it isn't, this money is yours to use, and I pray that you use it well. You lived in more danger and secrecy than I ever have as a spy of Dumbledore's, for it seems that only Dumbledore, and perhaps not even he, knew of your relationship with Harry Potter. Your spot as the prized son of Voldemort's left hand should have made that relationship impossible, yet I imagine that you and Potter must have found some way around that extremely large obstacle along with every other that must have come along. I admire you, for you have truly brought honor to your name. You are no Malfoy.

With esteem,

Severus Snape

Draco closed the letter. He was silent for a moment, as if he was debating something inside his head. Then he gathered the money, his few possessions he had lugged throughout London after leaving the manor, and left the Leaky Cauldron.


	8. Family feud

A/N: Yay! A long chapter! Longer, anyway. Ron and Draco go at it, no not that you pervy wizard fanciers… And I account for quite a few characters in this chapter. Definitely not one to miss if you actually even care about where this plot is going. I don't. Um. Well, here's the chapter.. Read, damn you!

Chapter 8

At 6 in the morning on August 1st, Ron Weasley awoke to a knock on his door. His wife of two years, Lavender, turned in their bed. He slid out of bed quietly, made himself presentable, then opened the door of his house.

It was someone completely unexpected.

"Ron," Draco Malfoy said. He tried a smile. He was in all black mourning attire, which made his pallor show all the more. "I need to speak to you about something--are you alone?"

"No," he managed. The surprise was overwhelming. "My _wife_ is here. Other than her, yes. Now can you explain anything about why you've just shown up at--" he glanced at a clock-- "6 in the morning on my doorstep, for no apparent reason?"

Draco frowned at him. "I said I was going to explain, didn't you hear? May I please come in, or are we going to hold a conversation outside, with you in your knickers?"

Ron scowled. "Fine. Can you blame me? I just woke up because someone was knocking on my door." He opened the door wider and Draco stepped in.

"It's a bit dumpy," he observed. Ron didn't respond.

"We can go into my office. We won't wake Lavender there." He paced off towards his office. Once there, Draco peered around critically. Ron shut the door behind them. "Now what is it, Malfoy?"

Draco looked at him. "I'm sorry, did we just use a Time Turner and am I back in Hogwarts? My name is _Draco_, Ronald Weasley, and I pray you have the good courtesy to use it." He shrugged. "It's just a bit immature, that's all."

Ron glared at him, then withdrew. "Fine. It's just that I don't appreciate the things that were said about you and Harry in the papers. I'm certain they aren't true."

"Don't be too certain." Draco blandly examined a memo. Ron snatched it from his hands.

"Hey, that's official--" he paused. "What? Are you saying all that was true?"

"Most of it. The part about it being a love triangle originally was entirely false. I don't know where they got that. It was just us. Since 6th year." He peered at Ron. "Why are you so shocked? Wasn't it obvious?"

Ron was quite flummoxed. "Not really," he said. "6th year, you said?"

"Yes."

"I didn't see it."

"Maybe you just weren't looking. We met nearly every night." He grinned wickedly. "Quidditch was a good excuse to sneak off."

"You mean his late-night training was really--?" Ron's eyes widened in realization.

"Yes. It was quite beautifully planned. Neither of us were complete morons, you realize." Draco shrugged. "Enough about that." He cleared his throat, and for the first time Ron noticed the pain in his eyes. He couldn't have been lying. "My father disowned me, for all intensive purposes anyway, and I need a place to stay." 

He cut off Ron right before he began to protest. "Relax, now--yours was simply the first place I happened upon. If you can't take me in, or aren't willing to, could you send me to someone who will?"

"Can't you go to one of your Death Eater friends?" Ron snapped, then immediately paused in apologetic horror at the anger and pain growing in Draco's eyes. "I'm sorry, it just slipped, Draco--"

"Have you heard yet, Ron?" Draco said, in razor tones. "About that day two days ago? About how it really happened?" Ron nodded.

Draco looked away. Ron was shocked to see tears dribble down his face. "I'm disowned from all of them. I told them all the truth. I had to stay with them, and away from Harry near the end; I would have been suspected, and they would have used that against him." 

Draco glared up at Ron in such anguish that he had to lean back on the desk in surprise. "I held him in my arms as he died. Do you think that they would have taken me back?"

"No." Ron lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't believe it, that was all. I'm sorry."

Draco smiled, and it was bitter. "All I seem to be getting from people lately is apologies. Either they're sorry that Harry's dead, they're sorry for making a comment about it, or in one rare case--" he gave a quick smile, and it seemed a bit less bitter-- "she was sorry I was gay." He laughed. 

Ron laughed quickly and nervously. He hadn't planned on dealing with Draco Malfoy at 6 in the morning. It wasn't on his schedule. His life was incredibly monotonous, well, in a way, because life with Ludo Bagman was rarely _boring_--and then all of _this_ exploded in his face. Ron hadn't had an interruption in the night/early morning since Ludo had hired him one year ago. 

"Well, I suppose there's one good thing," Ron said. "You're free from Voldemort now. Right?"

"I suppose," he repeated, but in such a caustic tone that Ron bristled.

"Listen, I'm not going to have you talk to me like--" he snapped, but the apologetic look on Draco's face stopped him.

"I'm sorry," Draco said. "I suppose it's my turn to apologize." He gave a weak smile. "I may be free of Voldemort, but at the cost of Harry's life. So that's not much of a comfort. Do you understand? I'm quite sorry for snapping like that."

"It's all right. I suppose we're all a little off.. lately," Ron said. He reached for some parchment. "I can give you Hermione's address. She lives alone, but I'm not sure how she'll feel about the arrangement." He shrugged. "She's an Unspeakable, so she won't be around much."

"Granger? An Unspeakable?" Surprise permeated the words.

"Yes. Last year." Ron smiled. "It's amazing and yet not too surprising if you think about it." He handed Draco the parchment. "Now tell me; your father is probably going to take you off his financial support, right?"

Draco smirked. "That is quite likely."

Ron considered. "What do you plan to do for money, then? Do you need a job?" 

Draco frowned. "Are you offering me a job?" 

"Only if you want it." Draco stared at him. Ron scratched the back of his neck. "It's a job at the Magical Games and Sports Department. Good pay for not that much work. It was my old job." He gave Draco a weak smile. "You'd basically be a pencil-pusher, but it'd be work."

Draco looked away. "I'll consider it." He paused. "Isn't there some other poor bastard who could use this job better than I could?"

Ron smirked. "As you said, you're not a complete moron. We could use smart people like you." He shrugged hopelessly. "For some reason, our Department is considered a joke."

"I can't imagine why." Draco grinned at him. Ron was amazed on how quickly Draco could change gears and mask emotion. No wonder he kept their love a secret so long. "You're a good man, Ron. I blame myself wholly for never considering you more than poor scum." His good-natured look made Ron not take it as an insult. 

Ron nodded to him. "I blame _myself_ wholly for considering you an annoying little rich bastard." He stuck out his hand, and Draco shook it. "So it's all forgiven now?"

"All of it that I can remember," Draco said. He looked down at the parchment. "How do you think she'll react?"

"She'll be surprised, but if you're as honest with her as you are with me, she may let you live in her house." Draco blinked at Ron's statement. 

"House? She's not with anyone, is she?"

"Married? _No_. She's been too engrossed in work. The salary of Unspeakables is so high that she bought a mansion. I doubt she has a house-elf, though." Ron snorted. "Anyway, she'll be there until about eight, so I'd get on." Ron stuck his hand out again, and they shook a second time. They walked to the door.

"I appreciate this more than you can imagine, Ron," Draco said. His eyes were unmasked again, a clear pale blue, and they were full of gratitude. "I really needed some help."

"It's worth it, Draco." He nodded in complete respect. It was amazing how Harry had changed the man. Or was it how he had been all along? There was no knowing. "I'll be hoping to hear about the job."

"Me, too." Draco grinned. Ron grinned back. Draco opened the door, tipped an imaginary hat and left.

Lavender appeared, rubbing her eyes and blinking at Ron. "What are you doing up? And who was _that_, may I ask?"

"A friend," Ron said. "Someone who I'm not sure you know." She leaned against him and Ron ruffled her hair. "Come on, let's go back to sleep. I could do with another ten hours."

"You go to work in three hours," Lavender protested.

"Eh, Ludo won't mind. I'll meet you back in bed." Ron left her standing by the door and plodded back to their bedroom.

"You're impossible," she muttered, smiled, then followed in his wake. "Impossible."


	9. Role reversals and amnesty

A/N: Here's the ninth chapter. Fun fun, Hermione is back. Looks like everything may be all right for Draco, but if you think so, you obviously haven't read much of my stuff. Here's the most boring it'll be, I promise. Onward and toward--and review! (I'm a review whore… don't hate me for it.)

Chapter 9

At seven in the morning on August 1st, Draco stood in front of the mansion. It was huge. Even compared to Malfoy Manor. Draco stared up at it.

"Ron wasn't kidding about the salary." He looked down, ahead at the door. He knocked. Here was to hoping, if she was asleep, that she was somewhere in the behemoth of a building that she could hear it.

He could hear a muffled sound. Good. Perhaps she was awake. He knocked again. "Hermione?"

There was a pause in the sound. The sound of footsteps followed. Draco stared blankly at the door. Eventually it opened, and Hermione was standing there. It looked like she'd been crying for at least a half hour nonstop.

The look of surprise on her face amused him greatly.

"Draco Malfoy," she said. She must've realized that her face was tear-streaked and her hair a mess, because she quickly attempted to remedy all that and failed. "Why are you...?"

"It's a bit difficult to explain. May I come in?" He examined her face blandly. Eventually she nodded and stepped out of the way.

Draco stepped in. It was a rich house. He'd _never_ thought he'd see a Mudblood--a _Muggleborn_ living in such a rich place. He glanced up at Hermione.

He'd seen her last at their graduation. In four years she'd grown rather taller, and her hair had calmed down at bit. She was a handsome woman, disregarding the depressed puffiness of her face and the lines of overwork under her eyes.

She closed the door, took a deep breath and turned to him. "Now. Follow me." She cleared her throat, and began walking down a long corridor. Draco peered about like your average tourist. 

They stopped in a large room with a few chairs and lounging couches. A large box sat at the end of a room. It appeared to have dark glass inlaid inside of it. Draco stared. Hermione noticed and said offhand, "That's just my television, pay it no mind. I haven't watched it in months anyway. Sit!"

Draco obediently sat in a large leather chair. It was like his father's chair. He winced at the thought, but figured in the spirit of rebellion, he'd sit in it anyway. He cleared his throat. "I'll assume you know about what happened two days ago."

Hermione sniffed and nodded. "Was all that true? About you and Harry?" she said indistinctly.

"Yes. Except for the love triangle thing." He smiled vaguely. "Did you suspect?"

She considered. "Maybe unconsciously or something. I never considered it outright." She smiled, sniffed again. "It's just... unfair, I found out yesterday. It was the only way, though."

Draco froze. "Really? I mean, I thought a final stand and all, but _suicide_?"

"It's the only way to truly hurt someone with a matching wand core," Hermione said. "And since You-Know-Who was connected to Harry through the scar, it was twice the power and killed him. He begged me for research and I gave it to him."

Draco was staring at her, hard. "What?" she said.

"You knew."

She floundered. "I had a good idea, yes."

"You let him."

"It was his choice--"

Draco cut her off. "All right," he said. "All right. Please--" he broke off, looked away from her. "I came here to ask you something."

Hermione clutched what appeared to be a large book in her hands. Draco was hardly surprised. "What?"

"Can I stay here with you?"

The look on Hermione's face was similar to Ron's, except with a little less fury, more disbelief. "To think," she said. "If someone had told me that Draco Malfoy was madly in love with Harry and that he would ask to stay at my house after Harry died.. I would never have believed them."

Draco stared at his once-impeccably polished shoes, now rimmed with mud. "My father threw me out of the manor, and I'm cut off of all financial support. Ron is offering me a job, but.. I need somewhere to stay in the meantime, I can't even afford the Leaky Cauldron for much longer."

"Will you pay rent eventually?" When he looked up at her, Hermione had a faint grin on her face. "Because this house costs quite a bit, even though there's quite a lot of extra space. Don't know what to do with all that space, fill it with books maybe?" Draco felt a faint hint of a smile crawl onto his face. "And it does get very lonely in such a big house all alone."

Even though it was obvious what she was getting at, Draco had to have clarification. "So what you're saying is..."

Hermione had a strange grin twisted in sadness. "Sure. As long as you don't hex me in my sleep, I'm fine. Do you snore?"

A smile twitched onto his face. "Not that I know of."

"Fine, then," she said. She stood and considered. "You can have pretty much any room you want, the place is huge. I recommend the other master bedroom, other than mine. It's really nice, posh." She laughed. "It's very Malfoy."

His smile faltered and broke. She noticed and switched tracks. "I'll show you to it, give you a tour of the place. Come on."

She isn't all that bad. Not really. Not as half as bad as I thought she was. Draco followed her as she swished about in her too-large navy blue Unspeakable robes. 

He isn't all that bad. Not really, Hermione thought. _Not half as bad as I thought he could be._

Harry would have been proud.


	10. Marked

A/N: Tenth chapter… *gasp* There are actually events in this chapter. I didn't actually intend on writing it this way--the funeral was gonna come first--but it came out this way so who am I to complain? Anyway, I don't flatter myself on thinking you may remember the third chapter (This is, after all, the tenth), so the Kristallinneres, to all who don't remember, is the crystal globe thing that Draco gave to Harry with all the memories and… yeah.

I live up to my name (Angst) in this chapter. Draco is definitely angsting in this chapter. ('Tis a little bit of an archive fic…) We learn more about how the Unspeakables work, just a tad, and well, as I said, there are events. Wow, I hope this is going to work. Well, here it is. Chapter ten. Enjoy! And review! Please?

A/N2: Um. I reposted this again without the lyrics, because I was gonna run out right about now, in fact. So, poof go the lyrics. If anyone actually minds, I'll put 'em back, but I have a feeling no one will. The title will stay the same though. Now read!

Chapter 10

At noon on August 1st, Draco Malfoy was completely and utterly miserable.

He had spent all of five minutes setting up his few belongings in the other master suite. He carefully placed the Kristallinneres on his bedside table and tried not to look at it. He could almost see the reflection of Harry's face in it, and that was something he didn't want to think about.

"Nothing is more important than love, not even life... I did it for you, Draco, I did it for everybody.. you're free now... do what you've always wanted to do. I love you, Draco.."

Had he not known better, he would have thought he was going mad.

The voice was coming from the globe resting there on the table. How could such an object know the very words that had driven him to drink and barred him from sleep for two days?

He dared not sleep, because of the dreams that would come. He would rather pass out into a drunken stupor than lay in bed, thinking about _him_ and dreaming of _him_. 

Did Hermione have alcohol in this behemoth of a house?

Against his better judgment he found himself reaching for the Kristallinneres. He knew it would do no good to brood. Still he reached for the only way he could see Harry again, because that was all he wanted. A fix.

"Do what you've always wanted to do"… Harry, all I wanted was you.

A dark night on the Quidditch pitch, nobody there. The sweet taste of Harry against him, the soft touch of his skin. Breathing in the love of the one who used to be his worst enemy. A warm touch against his face, a loving touch so rare to him. 

A memory he had never truly seen arose in response; Mother, when Father wasn't looking, secretly crying for her son who would eventually become just another Malfoy, killed, gone, for pointless beliefs.

It dropped from his hand onto the wooden floor with a loud thunk. Draco awoke from his reverie, and the wall he had built inside of his mind to block out everything crashed. Tears budded from his eyes and dripped down, two dark spots on his black mourning robes.

He reached for his bag, pulled out some parchment, quills, ink, and started to write.

Master Severus Snape,

I am grateful beyond reason for the letter you sent me. I will return the favor soon. But this letter is more than just a thank you, you must understand. As I am now divorced from the Ministry itself in many a way, I do not--and must--know where Narcissa Malfoy, my mother, has gone. On a personal note, I do not care what you have done with my father or where he is, but as soon as I am sure of this, I will pay any price I must to have my mother. She is all I have left in this world.

Here he bit his lip. It was getting far too personal. He touched his hand to his forehead, glanced down at the drying ink and continued even so.

Your response would leave me forever in your debt. 

With esteem,

Draco Malfoy

He put down the quill, rolled up the letter and went to go out searching for one of Hermione's three owls. They were a pain, he had already figured out after only living there for six hours. He eventually found one in the bathroom, managed to get it off of the towel rack and sent it on its way.

He passed a mirror. He stopped. He took a long, hard look at himself.

"I hate you," he said to the mirror. "I hate you." It didn't respond, not that he expected it to. "I hate you because you are weak and there's no way for me to escape you. Harry was the only one who ever saw me as anything more than what I was. What I am. And now that he's gone... all that's left is you and me."

He glared into the pale, tear-bruised eyes of his reflection. "I hate you." He took a step back, and touched the near-black bags beneath his eyes. "I hate you!" he screamed, and lashed out with his wand.

The mirror shattered. Reality shattered. Draco found himself on his knees, surrounded by silver glass, shaking. "_Reparo_," he murmured. The mirror quickly remade itself. He slowly collapsed until his head was between his knees. 

He didn't move from that position for what seemed a very long time. Finally his hand slapped against his upper arm and his head snapped up. "Hermione," he said. He stumbled up, still clutching his arm and ran for some parchment and ink.

-------------

Hermione, for once, was not busy.

Because of the lack of, well, Voldemort, there wasn't a huge amount of research going on. Her coworker, Dianthe Donnelly, was flitting back and forth through the library doing potions research. She was currently writing a letter. It read so far:

Ron,

I had a surprise visit from Draco Malfoy this morning, and you must think me stupid if you think I don't know you sent him there. It's all right though, he's staying at my place. There's definitely space to share.

Things are much too quiet, Ron, and you know as well as I what happens when things are quiet. Keep your eyes open. I'm honestly worried, and I'm not being paranoid. Really.

"Granger," Dianthe yelled from what sounded like a very high shelf. "There's an owl at the window for you. No Ministry seal, be careful. Who are you giving the address out to, anyway?"

"No one dangerous," Hermione yelled back. "Which window?"

"East!"

The Unspeakables' library was indescribably large. The one in her office was no comparison, and only had basic books. Almost every book of magic known of was in the Unspeakables' library, and it was almost impossible to leave if you didn't either have a map or countless years of experience getting out. This was a major problem, as Apparation was impossible in the library. There was too much magic and the books resented it. The East window was somewhere close to a meter away from the table she was occupying currently.

She set her quill down, took a map from the table and started her way towards the East window. After about fifteen minutes and a few missed turns, she reached the window. One of her own owls was waiting for her there, and it looked rather harried. She coaxed it down from the windowsill and untied the letter from around its leg.

It was, as she had expected, from Draco.

Hermione,

The Mark is burning on my arm. I think Father's looking for me. Talk to the Ministry, quick, this is very important. I think the Death Eaters might be free.

Draco

She ran back the whole way and, panting heavily, crashed into the chair and finished off the letter to Ron.

Told you so. Malfoy just owled me saying that the Mark is burning. Owl me immediately if and when something happens.

Love,

Hermione

-------------

It was dinner at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore nor Snape were at the faculty table.

Dumbledore's face was grim. "Severus… something has happened."

Snape raised his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark in its full dark glory. "I know."

A/N: Mwahaha. Suspense. I know the mirror part's weird, so sue me ^_^()… I was actually angsting myself so that just came out like that… but anyway, go and review now…


	11. The funeral

A/N: Ahh, finally. After agonizing through all the plot twists and how to use charries in this chapter, I finally managed to finish it. Another cliffy, sorry. Neer. Here it is, after so long. Um, it's 12 pages long. You'd better start reading now… let's just say, a lot happens here. Pay attention. Now read!

Chapter 11--"I'll try"

At eleven in the morning on July 3rd, Draco Malfoy was getting ready for the funeral. Hermione was sitting at the mirror in his bedroom, talking and putting on makeup.

"Only the Ministry and the Hogwarts staff--and you and I, of course--know about this right now, Draco," she said. "So don't talk about it. Don't even mention it."

"Hermione," he said, "I am the king of tact." She gave him a sideways look. "That day does not count. Besides, I've covered the bloody thing in two layers of bandages _and_ a long sleeved shirt _and_ a jacket. The likelihood anyone sees it are slim to none."

She finished putting on lipstick. "Don't take your suit jacket off. Ever. Okay?"

"What if it's 90 degrees in there?"

"I sincerely hope it isn't. Still, in that unlikely case, no. You're a good actor. _Act_ cold." She grinned. "You're even better at that."

"Hilarious," he said, then smirked. "Never thought I'd see you in makeup, Hermione."

"Never thought I'd see you look good in a suit," she shot back. "Why aren't you wearing a tie?"

"I don't wear ties." Father wore ties.

"What, do they inhibit your sneering muscles?"

He fixed his collar in the mirror she was preening herself in. "I just don't wear ties," he said.

"It's because of your father, isn't it?" He froze. "Your father is going to Azkaban. You don't need to be afraid of him anymore."

He kept his voice level. "May I draw your attention to the large magic brand burning black on my arm?" he said. "What should be true is, since there's no Voldemort, there's no calls from the Mark. But my father was his most cunning crony. I have no doubt that Lucius found a way to burn the Mark."

Hermione shook her head, and put in a pair of hanging hematite earrings. "Heavy task, I know, but forget about it for a while. The funeral is in a half hour. We'll Apparate there." Draco was shaking his head. "What?" she said.

"I use magic, I burn the Mark darker, and Lucius can find me," he said. "No Apparation. No way in hell."

"You're paranoid," Hermione said. She looked incredibly irked.

"Better paranoid than dead, I always say."

She finished with her makeup and looked up at him with a suspiciously blank look on her face. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, of course."

She grabbed his hand and Apparated. He yanked his hand away from her. "What are you doing?"

"Administering a dose of reality."

He glared around. "If everyone here is slaughtered by the end of this, it's your fault."

"Point taken." She took his hand again and pulled him along. "You do want to do this, right?"

"I don't want to," he said. "I have to."

There was an outrageously dressed, presumably female _creature_ interviewing Fudge--if badgering with questions was considering interviewing. "Rita Skeeter?" Draco was incredulous.

"No," Hermione said. She looked completely nauseated. "Her daughter. Eight years ago Rita Skeeter promised no more shenanigans. Instead she trained up her hellspawn to do the dirty work. She's still at Hogwarts, actually. Only 14."

"That is just sick." Draco looked at the Skeeter child in disgust. "What's her name?"

"Lita," Hermione said.

"Thought it'd be something like that." They arrived at the door. The Skeeter girl watched Draco like a hawk and swept upon him quite like one, too.

"Excuse me? Excuse me, sir?" She didn't seem to get the point of Draco's pointed ignorance of her. She lowered her glasses down her nose. "Are you ... are you the ever-famous Draco Malfoy?" The faked awe in her voice was sickening. "I would greatly enjoy an interview about how you feel today. Harry Potter was your partner, after all; how do you feel about his death? Do you feel outcast by wizard society because of your orientation? If you could indulge me, Mr. Malfoy."

She said all of this rather fast.

He responded by putting his index finger right in the middle of her forehead and pushed her away. "Sod off," he said evenly.

The blithe denial appeared to shock Lita Skeeter so much she was momentarily silenced. Hermione took advantage of that to drag Draco away. "Do you know how many people in your position have not had the courage to do that?" she whispered to him.

He shrugged. "I've made a hobby out of doing the unexpected, as is clear." He looked ahead again and his throat went dry. There was a coffin there. And inside of it... "Where do we sit?" he managed to say to Hermione.

"Wherever," she said. She didn't seem bothered at all. When he didn't appear to be moving, she steered him towards the front. "That's a good boy. Come on. Hold together."

Ron suddenly appeared beside Hermione. "'Mione," he said. "I've got to tell you something." He pulled her away, leaving Draco sitting alone, staring at the floor.

"What happened?" she said.

"Azkaban," Ron said. "The Death Eaters never got there, never got locked in cells, anyway. They attacked the guards and..." He bit his lip.

"What?" Hermione snapped. "What did they do?"

"They, well, they freed the dementors," Ron said. "And no one knows where any of them are, Death Eaters or dementors." He looked sick. "This is obviously quite bad."

"Oh, God," Hermione said. She pressed her hands against her temples. "I can't believe this. He was right."

Now Ron was confused. "What?"

"God, I can be such a bloody _know_-it-all..."

"Not arguing with that," he said with a weak half-grin on his face.

"Shut it Ron," she said automatically. "Are you doing the eulogy?"

He nodded grimly. "Yes. First Fred wanted to, but he ... he didn't want to leave George, you know." George was attacked by Death Eaters and was currently in a magical coma. "Ginny thought about it but really ... it was you or me."

Hermione suddenly realized what a dry throat meant. "Well, Ron ... you know you were his best friend. He would have preferred it like this."

He shook his head. "Anything I say to refute that won't get through your head, so I'll save some effort."

She looked down. "Good luck, Ron." Before she realized it, Ron had pulled her into a great hug. For a moment they stayed like that until they both pulled away. Hermione glanced up at him, swallowed hard, and left silently.

Draco was standing now, thought it had only been for a short time, and he was staring at someone. Hermione pulled at his shoulder. "Draco," she whispered, and he turned.

"Do you see her?" he whispered. 

"Who?" She glanced around. "There are a lot of people here, probably more than there should be."

Draco jerked his head in one direction. "I mean _her_. In the floppy black hat."

Her vision clicked. "Yes," she said uncertainly. "Who is she?"

He gave her a look of equal parts horror, surprise and disdain. "It's my mother," he said.

-------

There was no doubt of it. That was Narcissa Malfoy.

There was something about her; it was in her blood as well as his. She was from the Faline line, an old pureblood family of Ravenclaws known for their grace, beauty, and tact, a true family of the aristocracy. Something about the silver-blonde of her hair, the smooth line of her face stood out among all lesser mortals. There was probably veela blood in the Faline line.

How could she be here? Did she bargain with the Ministry? Naturally he had; he turned in several of the Ministry's unknown Death Eaters. Could this have something to do with the Mark?

Of course it did, and of course Lucius was part of it. What hope was there to have that Mother... Narcissa was going to be nice, love him, hold him close like a mother should?

None at all.

So why was he dwelling on her? It was unhealthy.

He managed to get himself to look away, into Hermione's concerned face. He remained silent and glanced over at the casket which presumably held Harry.

He never told me, Draco thought. I would bet it was on his mind for ages and he never told me.

"He never told anyone," Hermione said, answering his apparently spoken question. "He asked for information about wand cores from me and that was as far as communication went. That's why it was such a shock that he did it. Magical theory like that is so obscure--" 

"--that probably you, Harry, and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew it existed?"

She nodded. "Speaking of which--" She reached into her pocket and flourished a rolled-up piece of parchment. "This is yours." He took it and looked closely at it.

__

An Eagerly Awaited Reply

He rolled it open and read:

__

Master Draco Malfoy,

I am sorry to tell you that the news about your mother is, as of yet, not very good. The Death Eaters--not including you, I, and Blaise Zabini--were transported to Azkaban and there they will stay. It would take more political power than even your father had to appeal for your mother's freedom and succeed. On a personal note: I knew your mother back at school and it is a true fallacy for anyone to say that Narcissa Faline would do Dark Arts of her own will. Narcissa was and is a woman of remarkable grace and intelligence, while Lucius Malfoy is indeed a Malfoy--cunning, threatening and bloody stupid. To bind a woman like your mother as he did, Lucius indeed must have been bloody stupid.

You would do well to have a word with Dumbledore, I believe.

With esteem,

Severus Snape

He rolled up the parchment and put it in his pocket. 

Hermione leaned over to him. "Draco," she whispered. "The Death Eaters are free. And so are the dementors."

He sank back into his chair and it seemed to Hermione he turned a sick shade of pale.

He was now full of doubt, and there seemed to be only one way to quell it. He had to talk to her.

The Dark Mark burned like fury.

-------

It was the best Narcissa could do to stay silent.

Lucius had used that sniveling rat, Pettigrew, to burn the Mark the first time. And when she had first tried to get away, he burned it on her, too. It was agony, and she could tell it was the same for Draco. So she simply smiled and clutched her arm as if it was cold. It was far from cold.

Her son sat there, clearly not oblivious to her presence. Her presence was almost painful to him--she could tell--and she hated it. Because once your child hated you, the whole world had reason to hate you.

Lucius was a cunning bastard with a very good blackmail against her--that was, incidentally, yet another of his plans--like an ax behind his back. The moment she turned on him, he would swing it and dismember her life. If he was feeling very vengeful, he'd kill it.

Now he was trying to kill her son. That was unforgivable. She didn't care anymore; she was disgraced anyway, would probably be dead at the end of this, what was the point?

The look on his tear-bruised face that day Harry Potter died was like the Mark now, pure agony to her. She put on the act--you were either a good actor or learned how to act once you took upon the Malfoy name--and made sure Draco left Malfoy Mansion. If he had stayed, Lucius would have no problem finding him afterward.

Lucius had the plan set for ages, since the rise of Voldemort. If the fall would occur and they were captured, they would be sure to be captured with specially concealed weapons, mostly knives. Lucius would kill the first guard, the rest would follow in suit, and they would free the dementors to use as they pleased. Naturally there were a few hitches. Either Crabbe or Goyle--Narcissa honestly couldn't tell them apart--got the Dementor's Kiss and one or two Death Eaters were killed in the struggle. 

The moment they had escaped, loosing the dementors upon Britain, Narcissa stabbed Lucius and made a break for it. The moment she thought she was free, he grabbed her arm and burned the Mark in. "Try to kill me if you want," he had said as he gripped her arm. "I'll make sure there is no Malfoy heir to inherit my gold." It was then that he stabbed her pretty damn well with his knife. It was bandaged, but being a pureblood, she wasn't used to the agony of real medicinal healing.

Even so, she was there to make sure there was a Malfoy heir to inherit his gold when he was dead, even if she had to kill Lucius herself. She was not yet free from Lucius's grip--the Mark was an obvious proof of that--but she was farther than she had ever been before.

-------

An usher opened the casket, and cold sweat succeeded in breaking out all over Draco. Could he really look into the now dead eyes of the person who had kept him alive for the past five years?

He was not the first to rise. The first to rise was Sirius Black, who stood there for a very long time, shaking. Eventually Remus Lupin pulled him away and looked into the casket himself for quite a long time. Once he walked away, Draco took the initiative and walked over to the casket. A photographer from the Daily Prophet snapped a picture as he did so, and Hermione paid him back by exploding the camera.

He was, surprisingly enough, not very pale. All makeup, Draco supposed. "'Death,'" Draco quoted under his breath, "'that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and thy cheeks, and death's pale flag is not advanced there.' Shakespeare." He smiled vaguely. "You always liked Shakespeare. Especially Romeo and Juliet. You said it was our story." 

He bit his lip. "You told me to do what I've always wanted to do. I never wanted to do anything... without you." He swallowed. "I suppose all I can do is move on. I'm getting on well with Ron and Hermione, you know, and I hope you're proud." He looked down again at Harry's peaceful face and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I'll try my best," he said, and walked away quickly before he embarrassed himself. As if he needed to worry about that; there were pictures all around of him sobbing over Harry's body. 

Hermione hugged him. He just stared down at the ground until the idea of Narcissa being across the room popped back into his head and he looked over there again. She was still watching him. When their eyes met, she nodded deliberately and walked out into the hallway. He quickly followed suit, trying to be as discreet as possible. 

She tilted the hat backward so Draco could see her face. "Your father is a complete and utter bastard," she said evenly. "Thought I'd tell you that right off."

"You came here to tell me that?" he said. "I already knew that. If we're done--" He turned, but Narcissa grabbed the arm she knew held the Mark to stop him.

"We're not," she said. She released him and he turned slowly back to her.

"Fine," he said. "I expect you broke out from Azkaban or something like that. Lucius would try that. Are you the bait?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Narcissa snapped. Draco twitched at the mention of his middle name. "You expect me to believe _you_ actually think I would work for that bastard--who, incidentally, is out to kill you--the man who did this to me?" She pulled up her shirt a bit and revealed a bandage soaked in blood. "My lovely husband is out to kill his heir. Do you understand?"

"Narcissa," he sniped in the same tone. "You really expect me to believe that, do you? Expect me to rush up and hug you and cry in your arms? Do you realize what I've been through? Incidentally, it's all because of you and that bastard. If you're really being honest, _prove it._"

She stared into her son's eyes and yanked up the sleeve of her shirt. The Dark Mark was scorched black on her arm. He shoved her sleeve back down. "What are you thinking? We're at bloody Harry Potter's funeral and you're flashing the _Mark_? An escaped prisoner from Azkaban?"

"Did you see?" He nodded. "It's twice as bad for me, incidentally, because Lucius burned it on me after I stabbed him and before he stabbed me." She smirked. "One happy family, we are."

"That's supposed to prove something?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

"In fact, it is. If I was supposed to lure you into some kind of trap, would I be flashing the Mark about? If you really want to know why I married your father--ask Severus Snape. He knows." She shook her head. "You'd never believe me if I told you now."

His supernaturally thick layer of apathy was wearing paper thin. "Dammit, Mother, give me some _answers_!" He stomped his foot hard into the cushioned carpeting. "You never told me anything. Neither of you did. I just did the basic orders and never understood a damn thing. But Harry..." Draco stared at the carpet. 

"Harry helped me understand life. Life had always been about money and power before him, and after him it was so much more. Do you see why I never trusted you?" He leaned dangerously close to her and whispered, "You let Lucius do everything. No matter what he held over you, letting your son be put down and tortured like I was, is a sin beyond forgiveness. Prove that you're worthy of my forgiveness and maybe, _just maybe_ I can schedule you in."

The ice-blue color of her eyes so similar to his melted to the weak color of warm seawater. He couldn't turn away from her usually ice-cold eyes now thawed in emotion, so he stood there, rooted to the spot, staring back at her. "My son," she whispered, and collapsed to the ground. Draco managed to catch her by the arms, and sank to the ground with her. 

"Narcissa," he said, trying to keep her awake. "Narcissa. Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa Faline. _Mother._" She responded to the last, tweaking something off her neck.

"Don't heal me," she whispered. He noticed her hands pressed against the bloody wound. "Test it."

"Test what?" he said, then he saw the vial with just a few drops of blood-red liquid on a thin silver chain around her neck. He undid the clasp and shoved it into his pocket. "Hold on, Mother. I'll... I'll..." He fumbled for his wand, brandished it, but she grabbed his wand hand, whispering "No."

It was then he noticed there were people standing over him. "Get some damn help," he said, and his voice seemed strained to his ears. "No magic. Don't use any damn magic. Come on!"

Some mediwizards Apparated quicker than it seemed possible and picked her up. "No magic," Draco repeated loudly and inanely. He felt sick, and the emotional anguish mixed with the pain of the Mark. He managed to get back over to the chair next to Hermione without too much trouble and sank into it.

"What happened? I saw you go with her," Hermione said. She looked at him, quite concerned, and touched his face. "You're very pale. Are you all right?"

"Too much," he said. "Too much happened." He leaned close to her and showed her the vial. "Do you happen to know what this is?"

"No," she said. "Looks like blood. What is it?"

"I don't know." He looked up to see Ron approaching the casket.

Ron stood over the casket, staring down at Harry's peaceful face. _Harry never looked this peaceful, even when he slept. Harry always dreamed, unless there had been an adventure and an accompanying Sleeping Draught before. It was always his parents haunting him every night in his sleep._ He sighed. "It was necessary," he tried to convince himself, and failed.

Guilt was welling up for all the horrible things, great and small, that he had said to Harry, and became newly opened wounds. He swallowed hard. "I'll try my best to be as good of a person as you thought I was," he murmured, then went up to the podium.

"I know that far too many of us have been to far too many funerals in the past six years," Ron said. Much of the audience nodded. "Though there is just cause for joy at the death of the Dark Lord Voldemort, it came at a price none wanted to pay." He swallowed and gestured to the casket. "The death of Harry Potter."

In the silence, the only sound was Lita Skeeter's Quick Quotes Quill scratching across parchment, and a few audible sobs.

"He was my best friend, along with Hermione Granger." He nodded to Hermione, who wiped her eyes and nodded back. "And I'm not going to say what you expect." He paused. "Harry was, contrary to all evidence, not extraordinary. He was just an ordinary man born to an extraordinary destiny. He certainly was a hero, but understand this if you wish to understand anything about Harry Potter; he never wanted glory, fame, or that which seems quite according at this time, martyrdom.

"We should fulfill that wish and see him as he was; an ordinary man, orphaned as an infant, raised by Muggles, and thanks to his destiny, suffered more trial that a sentinent being ever should." He glanced over at Draco. "A man who hated as well as loved, feared as well as triumphed, and lost as well as won."

He raised his eyes to the watching eyes of the mourners. "And today we honor an ordinary man who strived and succeeded in extraordinary circumstances; not a martyr, just a man who knew what had to be done." He stared down at the podium. "Thank you," he said, and sat next to Hermione. She was crying silently into a handkerchief. 

Draco looked a greenish shade of pale that is usually reserved for the sick and the vampire-obsessed. "Are you all right?" Ron asked him.

"Do you think I'm all right?" 

"You don't look it. Did Hermione tell you?"

"Yes. It's true." Draco glanced away from Ron. "She's here. Or, rather, she _was_ here. She's at St. Mungo's now, getting treated, non-magically of course. At least, I hope, or she'll be dead by midnight at the very least."

"Who?" Ron blinked. Draco sighed heavily.

"My mother. It's rather complicated--I don't understand it all--but all I can say is that Lucius is out to kill me. I can't burn the Mark so I have to take the long way home. For that same reason Narcis--Mother can't be treated magically." He sighed. "Look, have Hermione explain it. I've had a trying couple of days."

"I don't think she's in the right state to explain," Ron said. Draco looked up and watched her for a moment. She looked up, wiped her face and gave Ron a look. 

"I'm not in a_ state_. That was a very good eulogy, that's all." She coughed and shoved the handkerchief into her purse. "I have to go up to... see him. I'll be back in a moment." She went up to the casket, leaving Draco to explain to Ron.

__

You bloody idiot. Hermione bit her lip, and looked down at Harry. "You bloody _idiot_!" she snapped, and a few people reacted. She took a deep breath. "You never even _talked_ to me beforehand. A letter, you only sent a letter, and not even a postscript at the bottom for me!" She shook her head. "I spend all this time crying over some guy who didn't even _call_ one of his best friends before he decided to save the bloody world. What kind of a sap am I?" 

She leaned against the edge of the casket. "Well, okay," she said. "I guess you wanted to spare yourself the months or years of possible doubt, right? I can see that, but... I miss you, and I wanted to say good-bye when this happened. I guess I'll have to wait if I see you in Paradise, or Heaven or something." She smiled, and sniffed. "Take good notes for me, I want a tour when I get up there." She kissed her hand and touched it to his face. "I'll try to be strong," she said, and left.

Ginny and Ron were arguing at a whisper about something she couldn't tell, so she simply shut her mouth and looked around for Draco. He was sitting beside Dumbledore, deep in conversation, and decided not to interefere.

"They never should have underestimated the Death Eaters," Dumbledore was saying to Draco. "Your father is remarkably cunning; he always was, I remember. Managed to keep himself from being expelled because of quite a few nasty tricks played on certain boys of the Gryffindor house." He smiled vaguely, troubled. "And now the tricks are far nastier than any juvenile pranks." He sighed and for the first time Draco saw the lines of age on Dumbledore's face. "The Aurors are out in force, but as of yet they haven't found a single dementor."

"Snape told me to see you," Draco said. "What do you know?"

"You always know the right questions, Draco Malfoy." Dumbledore looked at him closely. "The Dark Mark is burning."

"Yes." Draco pulled at his sleeve; his contact with his mother had made the Mark worse.

"This should be impossible. Voldemort is dead and thus the Mark should be dead. However, it's clear that the Mark is still alive."

"My father," Draco said. "Save some time. We both know he did it. No one else could. What about him?"

"He tried to kill your mother." Draco's face twisted into a mass of indecision. "As she did to him. Therefore it would be fair to say that Lucius is out to kill you, too."

__

What tact he has. "I'm sure of it," he said. "Considering he said so to Narcissa. You talked to her, didn't you?"

"Yes. She may serve a shorter period in Azkaban when this is over for the information she gave. The Ministry appears to be hosting many an unwanted guest."

Draco was losing patience. "This isn't why you asked me to talk to you," he said. "Get to the point. What do you know?"

Dumbledore paused. "I know you need a bodyguard."

"That won't be necessary." What kind of man would let another man kill his father for him?

"And if Lucius comes and finds you unawares?" Draco said nothing. "I will supply you and your mother with the most suitable protector I can find. Do you refuse?"

"No." He nodded. "All right. I could use a guard, if only to quell paranoia."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore's eyes shined with cynicism Draco had never noticed. "It isn't paranoia when someone's really out to get you."

"Indeed," Draco said, and stood. "I'm staying with--"

"Hermione Granger. I know. It's quite an irony."

"Yeah," Draco said. "Irony." He left Dumbledore there and went back over to Hermione and Ron. Ginny Weasley was there now too, and they all seemed to be having a heated whispered argument now.

Ginny was the first to look up at him. "What do you want?" she said.

Hermione patted her shoulder. "No need to be snappy, Gin," she said. "He's on our side. You know that."

Ginny subsided. "All right, but this is a private conversation." 

Ron looked at him. "The lawyer's coming around later tonight about the will."

"Harry wrote a will?" Draco sighed. "He was planning this for a while, wasn't he?"

"Three days," Hermione said. "He had Dean Thomas write it up for him. No one knows what he wrote, other than Dean. We're pretty sure he's leaving the money to you."

"But I don't need the money--" he paused, guiltily. "Wait. Never mind." He bit his lip. "I think he'd give it to your family first," he said to Ron. "Not a 'poor' joke. I'm serious. You're richer than I am now, anyway, so that'd be hypocritical to say."

No one spoke for a second, until Ginny gave Draco a sharp look. "All right," she said. "What would you do with his money if you got it?"

Draco considered. "I'd probably reimburse people who lost family members in the war. I'd give money to the Aurors, too. How many were lost in action?"

Everyone looked at the floor almost in perfect sync and Ron eventually said, "Twenty-four. Twenty-four Aurors."

"All right," Ginny said. "After hearing you say that, I suppose I can deal with you. You know how much it is, right?"

"No. How much?" He sat beside Hermione.

"At least fifty thousand," Ron said. "Never knew he had that much money. I mean, he wasted a lot and look how much he had left. That's a hell of a lot of money."

"Aren't you going to get your dad's money, Malfoy?" Ginny said. "Do you really need an extra fifty thou?"

Draco gave her an exasperated look. "I'm going home, Hermione. I have to walk there, so I may as well start now. You can catch Ginny up on the latest drama." He stood and Hermione sighed.

"All right, Draco. Be careful and don't mess with the shields I have up on the mansion. They took months to put up." She looked over at Ginny. "Suppose it's a good enough time as any to tell you," she said.

At that note, Draco left them. His feet had never hurt so much in his whole life. It was a damned shame. Harry gave great foot massages. He limped out of the room and took his coat from the coat check. 

"Would you like some company on your walk home?"

Draco shouldn't have been surprised.


	12. Intoxication

A/N: Cliffy, resolved! No cliffy at the end of this chapter, either. Thought I'd give ya'll a break. Strange scenes between our greasy bodyguard and Hermione, I don't think I characterize him all that well, but there you go. Blatant stupidity, as usual. Draco finds out why his mother did what she did, and everybody has a drink. Speaking of which… there's a lot of drinking going on here, but I don't endorse it at all. Heh. Read and review, people!

Chapter 12

Snape didn't look half as greasy as he had remembered. He wasn't smirking, which was odd. It was something halfway between a smirk and a... smile? 

"Draco Malfoy," he said. Even though Draco was now at least a half foot taller than he was at 17, Snape was still taller. 

"Professor Snape," Draco said.

Snape shook his head. "You're no longer a student. No need to call me professor. Thank you for the courtesy, though. So, yes or no?"

Everything clicked. "Ah, I see," Draco said. "You're the bodyguard. I'm sure Hermione'll appreciate this."

"I forbear to comment," Snape said. "It had nothing to do with the irony, though admittedly Dumbledore was amused by it. No, I know Lucius best--next to Narcissa and you, of course--and since I've caught him once, Albus is certain I can catch him again."

"Are you going to kill him?"

"Not unless you want me to. I have the distinct feeling that you'd prefer if I didn't. But it's your decision." Snape gestured towards the door. "Shall we go?"

"Why not," Draco said. He slipped on his coat. "You know, things were a lot less complicated when the war was on."

"The resolution's always harder than the solution. Now let's get going. I'm starving." 

-------------

"You're kidding." Ginny stared at Hermione. "That boy has one messed up life."

"You're telling me. Turns out he was playing double-agent for five years straight. He'd get the information from his father, and he'd pass it straight to Dumbledore." Hermione sighed. He's a lot smarter than we've given him credit for. For one, he did all that and is still alive."

"However long he'll stay alive is the question," Ron said. "His dad's really bad. He burned the Mark twice. If someone like that is looking for Draco, in the state of depression and dreaminess he's been in, Draco'll be killed within five minutes."

"I'd give him more credit than that." Hermione frowned at Ron. "Besides, I think Dumbledore said something about a bodyguard when he gave me the letter from Snape for Draco. I can only hope it's someone good."

"Anyone else hungry?" Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, you're always hungry."

"Actually, I'm hungry too," Ginny said.

"Come on, 'Mione, let's grab something to eat. We've got plenty of time." Ron pulled at her sleeve.

"Yeah, don't leave me alone with him," Ginny said. "Might be a bad influence on me."

Hermione laughed. "I guess I could deal with a small garden salad."

"All right then, it's settled. To the Leaky Cauldron!"

Hermione groaned. "Pub food? Ron..."

"'S food for the soul. Come on, be a sport." Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her to her feet. "It'll be good for you."

"All right," Hermione said cheerily. She grinned at Ginny. "But Ron--you're paying."

-------------

At quarter to one, Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape arrived at Hermione's mansion.

"Extravagant for the girl," Snape said offhand. "You do know how to take down the shields, don't you?"

"Yes. Well, she is an Unspeakable." Draco pulled out his wand hesitantly.

"It won't burn the Mark," Snape said. "It's reversal magic. Go ahead."

Draco nodded and poked the wand through two of the Muggle dispelling shields and said plainly, "_Toaster._" They shimmered away and slid back up after Draco and Snape passed by. He poked his wand through a keyhole shape in the shield of fire and the tsunami shield and said, "_Mercedes-Benz._" They slid away and another that looked like red glass slid up ahead of them.

"That's a Crucian shield." Snape sounded amazed. "How could she control a thing like that?"

"What do you mean?"

Snape just stared at the shielding. "A Crucian shield puts anyone who crosses it without permission into the Cruciatus Curse."

"Well, she's an Unspeakable," Draco said again, and shrugged. "She left these down yesterday. She... found out about Harry, and forgot. Anyone could have gotten in."

"Careless," Snape said.

"Yes, I suppose." Draco carefully made sure not to touch the shield while putting his wand into it. "_Ballpoint._" The shield collapsed down and they stepped onto the porch.

"This is a lot like your manor, Draco," Snape said.

"The manor wasn't mine," Draco said. He opened the door. "It was Lucius's." Snape followed and shut the door.

"It's yours now. Lucius obviously doesn't own it anymore. Your mother could own it, but technically it's yours. So says the contract, as far as Lucius told me."

What did they do to him, Draco wondered. They had found out that Snape was a spy, then what? What would they have done to me?

"What was my father like when he was in school?" he said.

"Where's the kitchen?" Snape glanced down a hallway. "This place is rather large."

"I'll show you." Draco led him through the living room and into the kitchen. "Now about my father..."

"Chauvinistic, abusive and raving mad. Just how you might have turned out had Potter not intervened." Snape, in this short span of time, managed to find bread, cheese and some mayonnaise. "He doesn't deserve Narcissa. Never has. I don't know if any man really deserves your mother." He fixed himself a sandwich and took a bite.

"Then why did she stay with him?" Draco sat on a stool and look on.

"It's not my business to tell you that. Your mother should tell you that."

"Does it have to do with this?" Draco stuck his hand in his pocket and flourished the vial on its chain.

Snape froze as he saw it dangling on Draco's fingers. "Did your mother give you that?"

Draco nodded. "She told me to test it. Is it a blood potion?"

Snape took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed. "I know, but I can't tell. I'm sorry."

"Look, my mum said you know and said to ask you. So I'm going to ask you: Why did my mum stay with Lucius?"

Snape sighed. "Look, bring that vial over here and I'll show you something." Draco went over and Snape took a bottle from his pocket. "Open the vial."

Draco pulled at the top of the vial. "It's stuck." He picked at it with his fingernails. "Hell."

"It's too important to be opened easily. Push down, pull it up and twist. At the same time." He did so and popped the top of the vial. Snape opened the bottle in his hand--it had a top like a eyedropper. "Get a cup," Snape said.

"You carry this stuff around with you?" Draco grabbed a cup from a cupboard after looking in a few different ones. Snape seized it and put a drop of whatever liquid was in the bottle in the cup. The liquid was light blue.

"You'll never know when you'll need it." Snape beckoned for the vial and Draco handed it to him. He took another eyedropper from his pocket, took one drop of the potion out of the vial, and dropped it in the cup along with the other potion. 

"What's the blue potion?" Draco said.

"It measures the potency of the potion to be tested. The darker it turns, the more powerful the effect of the potion."

Draco sighed. "Why can't you just tell me?"

"I'm proving a point." There was an edge on Snape's voice that hadn't been there before. "Watch." Snape swirled the cup. The red potion and the blue potion hit one another, fizzled and turned black.

Draco stared. "That's rather potent stuff."

"It's the second most powerful kind of potion ever known. You know what that is."

Draco was completely speechless, but he knew. He had read most of his father's potion and poison books. It took him three times to speak. "A love potion?"

Snape nodded. "It was Lucius's proudest work. Five batches in all, over a period of 40 years. Lucius would take just enough of the potion for it to take effect every day, and if Narcissa tried to leave, he would tell the Ministry that Narcissa forcefed him the potion."

Draco still stared at the tiny black drop in the cup. "My mum, she did all that because Lucius was doing this?"

"He kept the most current vial around his neck. I've seen him do it. She must have taken it off of him after she stabbed him, although I'm surprised Lucius let his guard down that long."

"Well, he was going to Azkaban anyway. He could afford it. I think he wanted me to find out, like a final parting shot." Draco sighed. "Damn, my mum's a good actress."

"Always has been." There was a knock at the door. Snape started. "Oh, good, that must be my things."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "How long are you planning on staying here?"

Snape gave Draco a slightly condescending look. "Until this crisis is resolved." Draco made haste to open the door before Snape got there, in case Hermione was at the door.

Narcissa Malfoy was there, eyes half-closed in weariness and soaked with sweat. She was clutching a suitcase that looked rather heavy. "The girl is behind me," she said. "She transported me here in that Muggle contraption of hers. This is yours, Severus." She dropped the suitcase, which fell with a thunk. Snape picked it up quickly.

Narcissa continued. "She's putting up the wards again; double strength at least. Lucius will be three times as willing to get in here if he knows the three of us are in here." Her eyelids fluttered and she tripped over the threshold. Draco caught her.

"Forget the wards," he said. "Hermione shouldn't have had you carry that. Let's get you someplace comfortable." Draco helped her up the stairs while Snape watched. Snape shook his head and started to follow when the sound of footsteps behind him started and died.

There stood Hermione Granger on the doorstep, staring up at him. "You," she said.

"You," Snape said. He did his own particular version of a smile and said, "You must feel awfully secure to allow three known Death Eaters trained well in the Unforgivable Curses into your home."

"I am an Unspeakable." Unspeakables, she thought, didn't live in their houses, anyway. They lived at work.

"That's what Draco said. Very impressive, Ms. Granger."

She gave him a dazzling smile, if weary. "Cheers." She brushed past him and headed up the stairs. "I need a drink."

"That, Hermione Granger, may be the first thing we've ever agreed on." Snape headed into the living room and there was the sound of him opening a small cabinet. "Ogden's?"

"Of course."

"You have good taste, Ms. Granger." 

-------------

Narcissa had passed out soon after Draco had helped her up the stairs. He hauled her to his bedroom and laid her on the bed. He folded into a chair, exhausted, panting and sweaty. He'd probably never done this much physical work in his life.

Lucius was going to pay dearly for that. Not only was he a complete bastard, but he had made normal life a living hell for him, a Pureblood who had practically never raised a finger to work, except to use his wand.

Narcissa wasn't bleeding anymore, and that was good. He lifted the sleeve of her left arm and saw the Mark livid there. He touched it and sighed in relief. The mediwizards must have heeded his wishes not to use magic on her, because her Mark was no more engorged than his.

Speaking of the Mark... he tossed off his jacket, shoved up his sleeve and unwrapped the gauze that covered the Dark Mark. The death's head glared back at him as he tossed the gauze away.

"I appreciate you telling me about our bodyguard," Hermione said, and Draco turned. He laughed.

"I found out around an hour ago, when I left the funeral."

"You hate this no-magic thing, don't you?" Hermione grinned.

Draco sighed. "I've never done so much physical activity in one day. I was one spoiled brat."

"That you were." Hermione put on a fake pout. "Life without a wand is hell, isn't it?"

"Yes." He sighed. "Where's Snape?"

"Getting some Ogden's. It's been a rough day." She looked at the Mark on his arm and sighed. "If you had told me last week that I'd be harboring three Death Eaters in my home today, of my own volition..."

"I'd get a swift kick in the arse and more than a few harsh words."

"Speaking of a swift kick in the arse..." Snape was in the doorway with a bottle and three glasses. "Fire Whiskey, anyone?"

They sat at the table after gathering a few chairs. Snape poured the whiskey and slid a glass over to Hermione and Draco.

Hermione lifted her glass almost immediately. "To Harry," she said.

Snape appeared to hesitate momentarily, but followed suit. "To Potter," he said.

Draco blinked and raised his glass. "To Harry."

The three clinked their glasses together. "To Harry Potter!" Hermione declared, and they each downed their alcohol.

Draco grabbed the bottle next.

It isn't quite as intoxicating as Harry, Draco thought blearily after the third round,_ but it's the closest I'll ever come to him again. _


End file.
